


My fuckbuddy is nice to my cat, and other serious problems (that Bucky has at 1 in the morning)

by Minka



Series: My Fuckbuddy is... [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Christmas sweaters, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky has no clue who Steve is because comicbook mask logic, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Christmas, Crack, Dom Steve Rogers, Fuckbuddies, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Humor, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, like really light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27075838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minka/pseuds/Minka
Summary: “Hey, girl,” Steve said, crouching down low to scratch Alpine behind the ears.  “How’s it going?”  Alpine was a fluffy mess under Steve’s hands, rubbing and pressing and meowing like she was the one with a hard-on trapped in jeans that were already far too tight.Bucky watched with a combination of amusement and mild displeasure at being ignored.----When his frequent booty call is nice to his insufferable cat, Bucky starts to worry that his blood is rushing back up to his head.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: My Fuckbuddy is... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009812
Comments: 82
Kudos: 651
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	My fuckbuddy is nice to my cat, and other serious problems (that Bucky has at 1 in the morning)

**Author's Note:**

> OMG. Two updates in one week?! It’s possible that I am no longer Minka and have been possessed. 
> 
> I don’t know where this came from. I don’t know how I was able to do it. I’ve been super miserable and el’depresso these last few months, and I saw [this prompt on tumblr](https://letsmidnightfights.tumblr.com/post/631925394987204608/someone-please-fic-this-stevebucky-saw-this-on) (I think it started as a story on reddit or somewhere, then went to twitter then ended up crossing my dash) and I was in the process of dealing with my daily sorrows with the help of a cheap as shit bottle of wine and then just… well. This happened. All 8686 words. Done in approx. 27 hours, and that included sleep, general life things, meal prepping, half a season of Community and about 30 games of Werewolf Online. 
> 
> I wish I was always this productive, and, as always, many thanks to my long suffering beta, Nika. 
> 
> But anyway, here’s Wonderwall. 
> 
> No. Wait. That’s not the title. 
> 
> Here’s _My fuckbuddy is nice to my cat, and other serious problems (that Bucky has at 1 in the morning)_
> 
> Also, yay, finally fills a [Bucky Barnes Bingo Card](http://minkawrites.com/bbb-card/) square that I’ve been stuck on forever!
> 
> **Title:** My fuckbuddy is nice to my cat, and other serious problems (that Bucky has at 1 in the morning)  
>  **Square Filled:** Y5  
>  **Author:** Minka  
>  **Pairing:** Steve/Bucky  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Warnings:** Language and sex, I guess?  
>  **Summary:** When his frequent booty call is nice to his insufferable cat, Bucky starts to worry that his blood is rushing back up to his head.
> 
> The insanely talented [HT](http://hundredthousands-art.tumblr.com) blew me away with this gorgeous picture of Alpine in all her snide glory! 

Bucky’s back hit the front door, the handle pressing into his side like a knife too blunt to cut.

“Oomph,” he groaned. The sound disappeared as lips covered his again, muffling the noise with a clash of teeth and tongue. A strong hand did slip around Bucky’s waist though, pulling him away from the offending piece of metal before gripping the skin harder; dragging Bucky forward and pressing him against something else hard.

Steve was good like that. Always knew where to touch and where to grab and just the right way to get Bucky’s pulse going. Bucky’s libido also benefited from the other man’s presence, but given the way Bucky was rubbing against Steve with no regard for his neighbours _at all_ , Bucky gathered that didn’t need voicing.

Between the two of them, they fumbled their way through keys and locks and twisting handles, all without breaking that deliciously addictive feeling of having Steve’s tongue dominating Bucky’s mouth. Feet shuffled as hands grabbed and held and Bucky was sure that his life depended on maintaining that searing kiss. How he’d ever managed to survive the days Pre-Steve was a mystery even to him!

Bucky didn’t like to think of himself as promiscuous or easy, even if his neighbours would beg to differ. He was just a busy working professional with far too much on his plate to hold down a stable relationship and a physical craving that couldn’t be fixed with silicone aids and personal attention.

Besides, since meeting Steve a month ago, it had been Steve and only Steve pinning Bucky to his front door at random times of the day and night. Bucky hadn’t logged into Grindr in so long – after being a daily swiper – that the app probably thought he was dead. 

But he was more than fine with that. Steve ticked all his boxes, and then some; ones Bucky didn’t even know he’d had on his requirement card. Add the fact that a regular booty call was always better, healthier and safer than a string of hook-ups, and Bucky had spent the last three weeks feeling like he’d won the fuckbuddy lottery.

The only issue was—

As if summoned by the power of Bucky's thoughts, something moved between his legs. Not _that_ something either – that was already at attention and annoyed by the existence of denim and zippers – but a small, furry, demonic something down near his calf. It twisted and moved, threading in between their legs and threatening to trip them.

The intention was clear; love me or suffer!

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky cursed as he almost fell over his own cat.

Alpine had no chill. She didn’t understand space or the idea of Bucky having private human time. But it wasn’t love that had her always there and always underfoot. Or, at least, if cat-love was a thing, it sure as hell wasn’t directed at Bucky.

Steve laughed against his mouth and somehow managed to keep them from falling but then, depressingly, he was moving away.

The spell their lips weaved had been broken all because of that damn cat.

“Hey, girl,” Steve said, crouching down low to scratch Alpine behind the ears. “How’s it going?” Alpine was a fluffy mess under Steve’s hands, rubbing and pressing and meowing like she was the one with a hard-on trapped in jeans that were already far too tight.

Bucky watched with a combination of amusement and mild displeasure.

Alpine was his cat, and Bucky loved her, but he’d also be the first to admit that she was a little shit. She was the sort of cat that gave other cats a bad name. Her favourite places to sit were inconvenient ones, her tail was always in the air, and her butt in Bucky’s face and heaven forbid he ever left a mug anywhere. She’d look him right in the eyes – stare him down like the creature of prey that she was – and then nudge said mug off the table. In slow motion too, daring him to try and make a crazy dive across the room to save his flooring and chinaware.

She hissed and spat and snarled and loved to claw at the back of Bucky’s couch even though he’d brought her every cat toy money could buy. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d spoiled her too much over the years. She’d forgotten what it was like to be an abandoned kitten, scrounging for scraps in the back alley near a kebab shop. She’d been adorable then; all wide eyes and loving head butts against Bucky’s ankle. The little devil had purred happily when he’d picked her up and tucked her into his leather jacket, zipping it up to keep her safe and warm on the ride home.

Alpine hadn’t even freaked out over her first vet trip, nor the follow-up appointments and the eventual big snip. She’d always been smart, and it was like her time spent as an unwanted dumpster baby had made her understand that kittens just weren’t for her.

All in all, Bucky had been convinced that he’d won the lottery of strays and that they were destined to have a long, happy life of cuddles and content purring and anxiety-reducing fur patting.

Oh, how naive Bucky had been to fall for her charms and wily ways.

Two years later, she was a terror that owned more of Bucky’s apartment than he did, and who refused to eat anything other than gourmet wet food. It was that or Bucky’s chicken breasts, stolen straight off the chopping board before he could even slice it.

She was a terrorist and dictator, all rolled into one, and yet she turned to absolute putty in Steve’s hands.

Bucky guessed he couldn’t blame her; she sure as hell wasn’t the only one.

Speaking of; Steve was standing, his attention finally returning to where Bucky wholly believed it should be. On him. Only on him.

“Your cat is adorable,” Steve said, and Bucky did his best not to pout at the treacherous turn of events. He still huffed slightly and crossed his arms over his chest in a move that he couldn’t control. He knew it made him seem defensive. Closed and shut off were other descriptions he’d been told.

It was also irrationally stupid to get jealous of a cat, yet here Bucky was, trying to frown more than pout and not death glare his own pet.

“But she’s got nothing on you,” Steve added and damn him to hell, but that smoothed Bucky’s ruffled feathers and turned his irritation driven resolve to mush. It was also lame and cheesy, but Bucky had always been a fan of mild cringe.

Steve was everything that Bucky wanted in a man. He was tall and built like the embodiment of Hercules, with blue eyes Bucky could drown in, and arms that could save him and keep him afloat. Steve was kind in all the ways that counted and harsh in all the ways that had Bucky going weak at the knees and panting for more.

Even better, he was emotionally detached and just as much of a stickler for rules as Bucky was. First names only – and honestly, that was only so Bucky stopped screaming Hercules when Steve made him come. No small talk, no jobs, no friend introductions. Steve always left quickly but not coldly. He didn’t sneak out in the middle of the night, but he knew when to make himself scarce or, more often than not, he had some pressing work matter to attend to.

He’d leave Bucky with a languid, sloppy kiss, a promise of “Later,” and, of course, he’d dawdle a few moments to say his goodbyes to Alpine.

Steve was, in short, the perfect fuckbuddy. An in and out, thank you and close the door behind you sort of lay, puns intended. No awkward breakfasts where Bucky would squirm on his hard seats, no promises of coffee that never happened. Pure pleasure, great cock and careless, no-strings-attached fun.

But Steve was lovely to Alpine and Alpine adored him, and Bucky narrowed his eyes at his cat and called her a traitor when Steve was out of earshot.

“Are you coming?” Steve’s voice floated out from the direction of Bucky’s bedroom. Maybe it should have been weird that Bucky’s fuckbuddy had just seen himself in, but this wasn’t their first rodeo, and Bucky wasn’t there to lead Steve around. That was Steve’s job.

“Not yet!” Bucky sassed back. Steve did him the favour of scoffing at the terrible attempt at a dirty joke; Bucky, for his part, tried not to trip over his own feet in his anticipation to get into the bedroom.

When Alpine followed him, fluffy white tail high in the air and meows sounding oddly skanky, Bucky shook his head and glared at her.

“No,” Bucky hissed. He spoke to her like she could understand, and she looked at him with all the audacity of a pissed off teenager as he closed the door on her face.

Sometimes cats just had no boundaries.

\--------

Bucky wasn’t usually one to give multiple chances. He was a ‘ _you blew it, so we’re done’_ sort of guy. Life was too short to waste time pining and waiting around and dreaming of all those ‘ _what if’_ moments. Those who’d scorned Bucky should be prepared to be frozen and shown the door. Unless it was Ryan Gosling begging for another chance – and even then, it had to be Drive or Gangster Squad Ryan, not Notebook Ryan.

Second chances just allowed for a higher degree of hurt later down the track.

So, when he’d texted Steve a winky-face, some eggplants and an exuberant amount of question marks two days ago, and Steve had never gotten back to him, Bucky found himself conflicted.

His moral code – which was dubious at best – said that he should kick Steve to the curb and delete his number, eliminating all chances of Wine-Bucky texting later and making a dick-needy fool of himself. It was a horrible idea and the thought already hurt, but it was just the way these things needed to go. After all, it wasn’t that hard to send a simple ‘No’ back in response. It would read cold and harsh and dismissive, and Bucky would have obviously preferred a ‘Yes!’ or, better yet, a short explanation, but at least it was an answer.

Radio silence was unnerving, and if Bucky was honest, upsetting.

Bucky wasn’t used to being ghosted. It sounded pompous and a little conceited, but people just didn’t ghost him. He was attractive and clean, he was tough enough to handle some rough treatment while not being a twink out looking for a daddy. He sucked cock like a fucking pro – honestly, he’d put that on his resume if it wasn’t so socially questionable – he was willing to try anything in bed and, what’s more, he didn’t cling and cry afterwards. There were no demands to be wined and dined, no UberEats suggestions and while he always kept a spare towel in the bathroom due to courtesy, he never tried to encourage his bed partners to stay.

He was a fucking goldmine; the stamped-out bingo line of submissive lays with absolutely zero strings attached.

People didn’t ghost him; he ghosted them when they stopped bringing a thrill in between the sheets.

So, when day two ticked around and drew to an end, Bucky had looked at his phone and sighed. Still no reply from Steve.

Against his better judgement, he decided to give it one more day. Just because it was Steve and Steve was hot as hell and Bucky wasn’t at all getting attached, but he also didn’t want to miss out on future fantastic sex.

Maybe it was fate or some cosmic retribution for Bucky breaking his own rules, but day three turned into a shitfight and a half and then suddenly there were aliens.

Actual aliens.

Now, Bucky didn’t want to go giving his booty call rules too much power, but it did seem suspicious that the state of life as they all knew it up and changed right before he had to make a personally important decision.

Eventually, Bucky opted to give Steve a one-off free pass given that honest to god aliens stormed New York and wreaked havoc and destruction. While Bucky still had no clue what Steve did for a living, the entire world had found itself shifted on its axis after the invasion, so it was only expected that people would need time to gather their thoughts and like, make peace with their gods or something.

Bucky wasn’t too sure about how that thought had ended. Personally, his brain had reverted to a more lizard-like state; physical closeness, pleasure and sex, all preferably with Steve.

Scrolling through his contact list, Bucky ‘noped’ on name after name. Dylan; well hung but just needy. Jake was far too sweet and caring and ready to move in and combine their lives and live happily ever after and adopt fifty cats and six children and – Bucky breathed – tended to speak in long, rushing sentences that made Bucky's head hurt. It just gave Bucky the heebie-jeebies. There was the hot Russian guy, Yuri. Bucky took a moment to really think that one over. He sure knew how to handle Bucky in bed, but the way he grunted and hissed through his front teeth had started getting on Bucky's nerves after a while. It was a real mood killer, and just like that lip sucking thing that Brad Pitt did every time before talking, once you noticed it, it could never be forgotten.

Bucky just wanted Steve. In a fuckbuddy, nothing-but-amazing-cock sort of way, of course.

After far too long arguing the pros and cons of his own actions, Bucky finally bit the bullet and sent a simple: ‘ _hope you’re alive_ ’ followed by eggplant, eggplant, eggplant, winky-face, winky-face, question mark, confused face, question mark.

That was about as needy as Bucky was willing to get, and it left him feeling strange. Hopeful, maybe. Desperate was more like it.

He tossed his phone onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh and flopped down, throwing his arm over his eyes dramatically.

Beside him, Alpine swatted the phone to the floor like the salty hoe she was.

\--------

There should be nothing sexy about a Dorito, especially not one that smelled of plastic and swished noisily with every movement.

So when Bucky’s doorbell had buzzed insistently and dragged him out of bed, and when he peeked through the peephole and saw a large, walking Dorito in the hallway, the urge to rule it off as a sleep demon and go back to bed was strong. This had to be one of those dreams that made no sense and Bucky would end up drinking tea out of an upside-down cup while someone he’d known in grade one repeatedly walked past, forever in the same direction.

That was the only possible thing that could be happening right now because giant corn chips didn’t just show up at doors and ring the bell.

No sooner had Bucky decided this was all in his head, the buzzer rang again, and given that Bucky had been leaning sleepily against the door, the sound was enough to have him jolting back to some sort of semi awareness. He blinked and frowned, scratched at his unruly hair and then peered through the little round spyglass again.

Yep. Definitely a walking Dorito.

“Bucky? Are you in there?” a known voice filtered through the door. The tone sounded hushed and conspiratorial, but that could also have been out of respect for Bucky’s neighbours. God only knew that Bucky had no clue what that sentiment sounded like. He tended to crash around and make noise and singing far too loudly to himself, not to mention the extracurricular activities. They had Bucky howling and thankful that his bedroom wall backed onto the apartment of an eighty-six-year-old widower with hearing issues. Mrs Henderson didn’t even hear when the fire alarm went off. Bucky did his part to keep her informed and had a spare key should anything drastic happen, and so he considered that his superhero-ish life-long good deed.

Opening the door, Bucky blinked and blinked and then blinked again, because no. None of this was making any sense yet.

Steve was standing in the hallway, dressed like the weirdest, ugliest Dorito in the world, and he had this expectant, hopeful look on his big, dumb, beautiful face.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and once again ruffled his bed-hair.

The way he saw it, it he had two choices here. The first was possibly the smart move. Close the door on Steve’s face and go back to bed. Get some sleep, and hopefully confirm that this was nothing more than an unsexy dream brought on by a craving for nachos and dip. He’d never had perverted food dreams before, but there was a first for everything, and it had been a challenging, stressful year.

Bucky only hoped that things would get better in the future. Maybe 2020 would be the year for everyone to shine.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, bringing Bucky's rambling, half-asleep thoughts back to the present. Right. Second option. He could invite Steve in and find out why the hell he was ringing Bucky’s bell while dressed as a corn chip just after midnight a whole three days before Halloween.

If this had been months ago, and Steve hadn’t made amends – and in some very creative ways – for the ghosting incident, then Bucky wouldn’t have contemplated option two at all. This wasn’t the way to apologise to a guy, even just a fuckbuddy. There had to be words and gifts of wine and copious amounts of sex. Steve had done all that, and now Bucky's texts were usually answered within minutes.

When it came down to it, Bucky was a simple creature. He had wants and needs, and while the whole chip thing wasn’t all that appealing, Steve was. Sure, Bucky was half asleep, but that had never stopped them before. Bucky would eat that chip up. No questions asked.

Reaching forward, Bucky snagged a floppy tab of fabric – he guessed it was meant to represent flavouring – and dragged Steve through the door. It was just as far from graceful as it was from sexy, and the entrance was marred by Steve’s insanely pointy shoulder pads getting caught in the doorframe, and the rip of cheap polyester as the flavour flap tore free in Bucky’s hand.

“I understand if you can never take me seriously again,” Steve deadpanned. He stood there, shoulders askew and triangle outfit looking patchy and uneven. The point of the Dorito flapped and caught between Steve’s thighs when he walked, making each step look both awkward as well as possibly painful and dangerous.

“This does put a different spin on things,” Bucky agreed sagely. He looked at the cheap, fraying bit of fabric in his hand and blinked as if it was just a figment of his imagination.

Steve shuffled awkwardly, and his face burned, the colour flaring up to match the horrendous fake cheese orange of the outfit. 

That did it. Bucky’s left arm gripped his stomach, supporting the right which moved to his face as he tried to stifle his cackles with the scrap of costume fabric. It didn’t work, and as Steve’s cheeks flushed redder, his neck following suit, Bucky only laughed louder.

It was the most absurd thing he’d ever seen, and Bucky honestly loved it.

The costume. Not Steve. Of course. Fuckbuddy. Nothing more.

“Do I even want to know?” he asked once he’d stopped laughing.

Steve looked bashfully down at himself as if he was indeed abhorred by his own appearance. “Office joke,” Steve reasoned with a shrug. It made the whole chip jiggle and move disturbingly and honestly, if Bucky hadn’t already known what lay underneath the appalling costume, then he would have kicked Steve to the curb. And then probably called the cops, because who rocked up to someone’s house looking like that?

“You’re lucky I like you,” Bucky threatened.

The smirk slipped right off his face when Steve’s hand twisted into his hair. It was just the right amount of pleasure; rough and commanding and turning Bucky’s head just the way that Steve wanted it.

It was hot and heavy and full of promises and demands that Bucky just loved to oblige.

Or, at least, it was usually. Bucky couldn’t stop looking at the boat cut neckline of the chip, and the way that Steve’s pale skin looked so at odds with the toxic orange.

Bucky blinked and tried to get his head back in the game. Steve was still controlling his head, and while the slip was subtle, Bucky still noticed that Steve attempted to kiss him, only to fail. Instead, Steve tugged on his hair, trying to pull him closer. They collided in an undignified wad of costume padding, and that just broke whatever fine threads of sanity Bucky had left.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t-” Bucky gushed through giggle-stifled breaths. He was spending so much time trying not to laugh that it was turning borderline hysterical. His chest heaved, and the air hiccupped in his throat as tears stung the corners of his eyes.

Steve was already talking over the top of him. “I know. You’re right. Give me a minute.” At least Steve didn’t seem upset by Bucky’s giggling, though it was probably good that they couldn’t see each other as Steve shuffled his way to the bathroom, the ‘tail’ of his chip chafing up between his legs.

A loud meow stopped Bucky staring at the closed door for the entire time Steve was in there. Instead, he fixed a withering look on his cat.

Alpine’s tail flicked from side to side, the action somehow both lazy and yet pointed with intent. She looked… unamused. Maybe she disagreed with all the laughing at what was quickly shaping up to be one in the morning.

In a way, Bucky couldn’t blame her. It was a little strange for him to be up and alive and cackling like a crazy person, but then, he was about to get some good dick, so he was happy to make the exception.

The bathroom door finally opened, and Steve was there. Steve, without the dumb costume; Steve in nothing but boxers that looked far too good on him but would look a lot better on Bucky’s floor.

Bucky licked his lips and nodded slightly, not giving a single shit that he probably seemed lecherous as fuck right now. No one in their right mind would blame him.

“Better?” Steve asked.

Before Bucky had the chance to swallow the strange thickness in his throat and say something, Alpine was meowing her head off. She jumped down from her perch – on the back of Bucky’s reading chair, her claws dug in deep for balance – and was over rubbing herself against Steve’s naked legs all within an instant. She managed to seem like the most adorable ball of white fluff imaginable, weaving in and out of Steve’s legs and purring so loud Bucky could hear her across the room.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. He fed her, he cleaned up her poop and vacuumed the place free of her shedding fur at least twice a week. And how did she repay him? By trying to steal his man.

No, not man, Bucky quickly corrected in his mind. _Fuck. Buddy_. She was trying to steal his fuckbuddy.

“Hey there, girl,” Steve cooed. He bent to give her a pat and Bucky was pretty sure he was mostly glad to be human, but he’d also never been so damn jealous of an animal before.

Not one to be outdone by a house pet, Bucky shuffled across the lounge and ruffled his hair again. He knew Steve liked it; liked getting his fingers in it and pulling and controlling Bucky with it, just as Bucky knew his hair looked good bed tousled.

“If you wanna stay out here with the cat,” Bucky muttered, his voice purposefully deeper and thick with sleep. He didn’t even get to the punchline before Steve was standing, Alpine forgotten, and following Bucky to the bedroom. Good. “That’s fine.”

There were hands on Bucky's hips before they even made it through the door, and if Alpine intended to follow them, she wasn’t given the chance. Steve kicked the door closed while pulling Bucky back against him. Their bodies lined up, all hard ridges and the swell of Steve’s possibly magical cock nestling between Bucky's cheeks.

“You’re jealous of the cat,” Steve purred. Bucky felt put out and exposed, his insanity on blatant display. He muttered nonsense and gasped a little when one of Steve’s large hands came to settle across Bucky's collarbones. It stayed there, not doing anything. Not squeezing or pushing or digging in and cutting off Bucky's airway. It was nothing more than heavy weight, and the epitome of a silent promise as Steve’s lips started working their way over the skin of Bucky's shoulder.

“Never,” Bucky lied, and it was a piss-poor attempt, too. Steve saw right through it, chuckling as his tongue laved a trail up the side of Bucky's throat before his teeth nipped at his earlobe.

“Take your pants off.” Steve changed the subject like a pro.

“Wouldn’t you rather do that?” Bucky responded tartly. He enjoyed giving Steve a run for his money, and as much as Bucky craved the thrill and pleasure of Steve holding him down and reaming him, it was no fun if he played too easy to get.

That hand around his throat tightened threateningly, pulling a gasp from Bucky. The teeth at his neck and the insistent thrust of Steve’s hips against his had rational thought and blood alike flooding down and pooling in Bucky's cock.

“I want you to strip yourself,” Steve said. “Against me.”

And didn’t that just do it for Bucky? His mind frazzled out; short-circuited and spasmed with all ability to think dying. Bucky's hands were moving to the laces of his sweats before he even registered that he was complying. He tugged at the strings and widened the band before sliding the grey cotton off his body.

“Underwear too,” Steve growled in his ear.

Bucky groaned in response and did as he was told. He shimmied out of his boxers, lifting one leg then the other before kicking them away. Of course, he was perfectly aware of how that made the globes of his ass move against Steve’s cock. Given the way Steve rutted against him, it clearly had the desired effect.

At Steve’s grunted order, Bucky's shirt came next. He hiked it up, and Steve let go of this throat just long enough for Bucky to get his head free, and then those fingers wound their way right back. Steve’s right hand landed on Bucky's hip, and just like that, he was marching Bucky forward towards the bed.

Knees being tickled by the messy sheets, Steve licked another line up Bucky's throat before grabbing both hips and giving him a rough push forward.

Bucky hit the mattress with an excited little gasp, catching himself on his hands and knees. A tap against the back of his thigh was all the instruction he needed; he crawled over the strewn covers and up the bed, making room. Steve followed – Bucky could tell by the impressive dip the mattress made – and when Steve grabbed Bucky's hips again, pulling him back roughly, Bucky felt the smooth slide of his bare cock rubbing up between his cheeks.

“Fuck, I needed this,” Steve groaned.

Bucky groaned and nodded, his hips pushing back and wiggling, enticing Steve towards more.

“Gonna be good for me?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded, his hair falling in his eyes and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He was already too far gone to put up a play fight and to misbehave. He usually lasted a lot longer before falling in line, but he usually hadn’t been woken up in the middle of the night and confused by a Dorito costume either, so tit for tat.

Besides, they were only just getting started. Steve had an insane refractory rate, and Bucky’s libido wasn’t easy to get in check, so there’d be plenty of time for him to push Steve’s buttons.

Steve was a methodical man, regimented and structured, and when Bucky had full control of his mental prowess, he often mused that Steve had to be career military. It would explain the sinfully impressive physique as well as the basic, standard and generally nondescript clothing he usually wore.

While Steve was never dull in bed, he did let that meticulous side of him carry over at appropriate times. They were both already past the point of games. Needy and desperate didn’t even seem to accurately describe how Bucky felt, and given the haste that Steve used to grab condoms and lube from Bucky's drawers, the same could clearly be said for him.

Steve went through the motions like they were a well-rehearsed dance. Bucky heard foil tear, and Steve gasp a little as he covered himself, and then there was cool, slick gel being rubbed between Bucky's legs.

Even Steve’s first finger slipping inside of him was nothing but a structured means to an end. Maybe it should have been weird, but Bucky found himself moaning and reaching for his pillow, drawing it in to bite. It was crazy how much that turned Bucky on anyway. Being prepped as if he was just another thing to be checked off a list of daily things to be done, was maddeningly hot.

One finger turned to two, and by the third, Bucky was mewling, all but humping his hips back against Steve and forward against the sheets. The friction was blissful, but there was no denying that Steve’s fingers were a poor substitute for what he had between his legs.

“Please,” Bucky gasped. It earned him a slap to his ass cheek and a rough thrust of those fingers. Bucky moaned out loud and lowered his head, offering himself up for Steve even more.

Finally, Steve gave them what they both needed. After a few more lazy slides up and down Bucky's cliff, Steve kneed Bucky's legs further apart, lined himself up, and pushed in.

If anyone asked – and thank fuck they didn’t – Bucky would swear black and blue that he saw stars every time Steve thrust into him. The Herculean brute was like a drug; an addiction that Bucky just couldn’t shake and one that he was sure he’d never want to. It all seemed to start with that base pleasure. Slow, at first, because Steve was well endowed, and he knew it in that considerate, not-an-asshole sort of way. But it was never long before Steve picked up the pace, his fingertips digging in. They’d cause bruises that would make Bucky smile every time he saw them. He loved those sorts of marks; the ones born of pleasure and wild passion, and he was more than happy to wear them for the weeks it took to fully heal. Unlike a few other fuckbuddies that Bucky had had, Steve seemed to know that. The man had never raised a violent hand against him, and neither of them got off on any sort of hitting beyond a reprimanding spank. It was just another reason that Bucky was so intent on keeping Steve.

In a fuckbuddy sort of way, of course. An _exclusive_ fuckbuddy. 

“Touch yourself,” Steve finally commanded, and Bucky was powerless to do anything other than whimper and obey. He wanted Steve’s hand around him, wanted Steve jerking him off like he owned him, but the moment Bucky closed his hand around his throbbing cock, he understood.

Steve groaned and gripped his hips tighter, thrusting harder, and Bucky took it, his ass up in the air and his hand pumping himself with desperation.

It didn’t take much after that. Bucky's head was awash with fantasies about how he must look right now, and how he was so good at following orders and being perfect for Steve. Steve didn’t even need to touch him to have Bucky fumbling over the edge; at least no more of a touch than the bruising grip the other man had on his hips, and that was more about Steve’s needs than Bucky's.

Bucky came with a cry he tried to muffle in his pillow, and as his body shuddered and clenched down around Steve’s cock, Steve lost himself as well. Two more borderline brutal thrusts had him gasping and digging his fingers into Bucky's skin.

Steve moved him back and forth, sliding Bucky's whole body up and down his cock as he used him to milk every moment of his orgasm.

It took another minute of Steve slumping over Bucky before he pulled out, and then Bucky felt himself being turned and twisted and rolled over onto his back. A soft touch to his face and a brush of his hair was all the contact Steve offered, but his gaze was intense and studying, searching for any signs of discomfort.

“You okay?” Steve asked. He always did this, always held off on the kisses and touches, giving Bucky a clear moment to respond without being closed in and overwhelmed. It was nice. Considerate.

Bucky nodded enthusiastically before reaching out for Steve and pulling him closer. “More than okay,” he assured. “But…”

“But what?”

Bucky nibbled on his bottom lip and shot Steve an over-exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes. It had to be perverse, given his flushed, sticky state, but he’d always had a talent for playing innocent.

“But I still have that horrible outfit in my mind,” he taunted. “You gotta get that out.”

Steve outright laughed, his head rolling back and his hand shooting out to thump over his heart. Bucky was in trouble because honestly, that was one of the most attractive sights he’d ever seen, fuckbuddy or not. 

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” Steve finally wheezed. The words were said between a lavish lick of his lips, and then it was Bucky's turn to chuckle in delight as Steve yanked him close and kissed him hard.

\--------

Alpine didn’t wear hats.

This had always been a problem for Bucky for two reasons, but now there were three.

The first was that Bucky often lacked amusement in life, at least that was the case when Steve wasn’t around. No cat owner could ever say that they’d never tried to balance things on their cat’s ears, or tried to dress them up, or done that horrible thing with a hair tie, and if they did, then they were lying and, as the meme-world would call them, ‘sus’. Emergency meeting! Clearly, they were a dog owner posing as a cat lover. Imposter!

The second reason was tied to the fact that Bucky irrationally wanted to be an Instagram queen. Not for himself, of course, because no one wanted to see his train-wreck life and the impossible-to-kill succulents he had dying in the corner of his chaotic living room. No. Bucky wanted to be Cute Cat Instagram famous. The mastermind behind the adorable photos and videos that went viral and made people over the entire internet pause whatever weird shit they were doing to go, ‘awwww’ before clicking _like_.

The third major issue with Alpine never wearing hats for him came from the fact that the little hoe was parading around the house like an underaged beauty queen, a Christmas hat sitting perfectly on her head.

Bucky had told Steve that it was a lost cause and that it was best not to try, but Steve was stubborn and Steve was patient, and Steve was a lot of damn things that Bucky liked. But. More importantly, Steve had sat on the floor and patted Bucky’s damn cat, and then he’d put the hat on and Bucky’s damn- _fucking_ -cat and had lapped up the attention and outright posed for a photo.

Bucky wasn’t an irrational person, but he was reasonably sure he was starting to hate his cat. And believe that she was out to get him! Even as Steve moved up to sit next to Bucky, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder how Alpine would ruin this moment.

Alpine finished her fashion show and jumped up onto the couch. She walked right across Bucky, tail up high enough to flick him in the face, before stepping onto the leg Steve had pressed against Bucky's thigh.

As Alpine flopped into Steve’s lap and twisted belly up, the hat still annoyingly on, Bucky turned his attention back to the thing in his own lap. No, not _that_ thing. That poor thing had been through a lot last night and wasn’t ready to be standing just yet.

But the box in Bucky's lap was worthy of his attention. It was wrapped in a way that clearly stated Steve had paid for the service. Bucky didn’t care how thoughtful the man was, or how progressive Steve seemed to be, the guy just didn’t have the fingers for perfect wrapping paper folds and elaborate bow tying.

“It’s just something little,” Steve said. Bucky had been staring at the gift for a while now. He couldn’t make his mind up about it and couldn’t tell how it made him feel. Gifts were personal. Gifts meant thoughts about someone that wasn’t purely sex-related. Unless, of course, there was some lube or a new pair of handcuffs – Bucky had never known anyone to be able to rip play handcuffs in half, especially not when they weren’t the ones wearing them – but then the box was bordering on too small to be anything for the bedroom.

A candle, maybe. Did fuckbuddies give each other candles to help hide the scent of good sex?

Should Bucky have gotten Steve a candle?

That was just stupid, and Bucky ruled that out a moment after he’d thought it. Steve was always at his place, so Steve had no need for a candle.

“It’s okay to open it,” Steve encouraged.

Bucky pulled on one end of the shimmery gold bow, trying not to feel like shit for not having bought Steve anything. He’d thought about it. Agonised over it, even. The Christmas shopping month had seen him almost biting right through his bottom lip as he saw things that made him think of Steve in every second window.

Clearly, Bucky had made the wrong decision. Just like always.

He’d never been the type to rip into a present, and instead flicked the small strips of tape until they peeled up and revealed a white cardboard box. Thoroughly intrigued now, he opened the lid and reached in, feeling the cool touch of something ceramic against his fingers. Bucky snorted ungracefully, the sound turning into a full-blown cackle when he pulled the mug free. It was simple and white, with a poorly sketched cat flipping a double bird and the words “I do what I want” scrawled at the top and bottom.

“You have no mugs. _None_ ,” Steve explained, as if it wasn’t the most fitting, perfect gift ever. “And I assumed it was this one’s fault, so…” He was still patting Alpine, and she seemed to be blissfully ignoring them.

“It even looks like her,” Bucky laughed. He held it up, eyeing the comic-strip style sketch against his cat and honestly seeing no difference. “I know you don’t see it, but she has true colours, and they’re all shades of nasty!”

Steve laughed, his hand still moving over that poofy white fur with firm but gentle fingers.

Steve seemed to like strange, gaudy, and funny things, so the gift was clearly something that he had laughed about himself. It was like he had no sense of shame or public responsibility. Then again, if anyone could make an ugly Christmas sweater look like it belonged in the pages of Vogue, then it was Steve. He wore the red, green and silver monstrosity like a second skin, the googly eyes of the snowman and the red nose of the reindeer all somehow working in his favour.

It was both fascinating and disturbing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” Bucky apologised with a blush and his best sheepish look. He wasn’t trying to be sweet and innocent and seeking reassurance; he really did feel terrible.

“It’s fine.” Some people said the word _fine_ in a way that made it sound anything but fine. It was _fine_ with a y, as the internet liked to call it. Steve wasn’t one of those sorts of people. He said it was fine, and Bucky could tell that he completely meant it, and that, more than anything, broke Bucky's heart.

“But you don’t have anything to unwrap.”

“If I had the patience,” Steve purred, “I’d wrap you up like a gift just so I could have the thrill of tearing it all off you.”

That was pretty cheesy, but Steve had a way of pulling it off.

“I think we’ve had enough bad costumes in our time,” Bucky reasoned instead. The way Steve flushed red with shame had Bucky laughing and flinging his arms around the man’s neck. He nuzzled in, kissing at the well-groomed beard that highlighted the dramatic cut of Steve’s jaw. It was an excellent jaw; Bucky had spent a lot of time mouthing at it throughout their arrangement. And he _really_ liked the beard, but it wasn’t his place to say that.

Just as hair had grown on Steve’s face, the time had passed between the two of them. Bucky was hooked. Grindr basically sent him hate notifications now, and Dylan and Jake and Yuri’s numbers had been transferred out of his phone and filed away in what was his little black book. Not that people had those kind of books these days, and Bucky’s was really just a box with a few slips of paper with numbers written on it and a couple of takeout menus. 

The world had been getting progressively stranger over the last few months as well. More masked heroes were running around, some trying to save things while others caused cataclysmic destruction. There were killer robots, too. Or there had been, at least. And then some sort of resurrected super soldier that had blown up half of DC.

Life was strange, but in all the chaos, Steve had never ghosted Bucky again. Sometimes – actually, a lot of the time – he couldn’t make it over when Bucky's heart was racing as the news played, but he’d always be there a day after, two at the most. He’d be pushing through the door before Bucky even fully opened it, his arms around Bucky's waist and his tongue in Bucky's mouth and his feet driving them towards any close surface.

It was nice to think that Steve had the same base instincts. When the chips were down, it was time for a good fuck. It was even better to know that Steve turned to him and only him. It was hot and heavy, and they gave each other everything that they needed. Bucky let Steve take control, and Steve let Bucky lose himself before being brought back safely.

Bucky had come to realise that Steve was dangerous. He was a demon in the sack, demanding and perfectly controlling and with moves that killed Bucky in the most amazing of ways. In the morning, he was the sort of guy that Bucky could fall for. Soft and tender, with warm hugs and gentle patting and lips that pressed against the side of Bucky's temple, easing him into full wakefulness.

He was so good at being dangerous that Bucky hadn’t even realised when Steve had stopped leaving in the middle of the night, nor when mornings had often started to include coffee.

Of course, there were still times that Steve had to go, his phone lighting up the room as some emergency broke. Bucky was starting to think that Steve was a doctor. Or a cop. Or some form of emergency response worker. He’d sure as hell look good in a firefighter outfit – just the pants and suspenders, of course, as the rest would look horrible – and Bucky had already started subtly suggesting that as a better Halloween idea than a fucking Dorito.

Bucky had gotten himself lost in his thoughts again, and honestly, by now, Steve was really good at letting it happen and giving Bucky space to think. The stunning tall drink of a man was amusing himself with Alpine, letting her chew lovingly on his pinkie.

Bucky was jealous. He wanted to be belly up in Steve’s lap, sucking on those beautiful, wonderful fingers.

“Hey,” Steve cooed to the cat. Alpine lapped the attention up, purring and carrying on like the fuckbuddy stealing hussy that she was. “What do you want?” Alpine purred louder and meowed and honest to fucking god, Bucky was paranoid enough to believe she understood the question.

“Do you want to come home with me?” Steve asked, scratching her behind the ears.

“Yes, please,” Bucky said, his mouth doing that thing of making words without his brain giving it permission first.

Shit.

“Shit,” he said out loud. Again! What the hell, treacherous brain?

His hand moved to cover his mouth, his eyes wide as Steve looked over at him.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, Bucky's mind helpfully supplied, slipping into full panic mode. Clearly, it had bailed out seconds after getting Bucky into this horrible mess.

He’d gone and done it now. Fucked it all up. Tried to attach strings on something that wasn’t meant to have any.

Steve looked at him, his head tilting to the side, and his eyebrows furrowing together. Damn, Steve had an excellent questioning/disappointed face. It was hot as hell and made Bucky long to be rebellious and naughty just to have the man naked and scolding him. 

Alpine let out an indigent squawk as she was deposited down onto the floor. She did not look happy, and while Steve was standing and no doubt making to leave, Bucky still saw the shitty white damn cat shrug her head and knock the hat off with a clear sense of spite.

Instead of heading for the door, Steve turned and looked Bucky up and down once more, and then he was towering over him, leaning into Bucky's space in a way that stole Bucky's breath.

“I know you said no strings--”

“Yes,” Bucky interrupted. Steve kept talking though, his body leaning closer, impossibly slow.

“--and that you weren’t looking for anything serious but. Wait. Yes?”

“Yes to dinner,” Bucky nodded. Steve’s thumbs were doing that thing where they stroked over the tops of his cheekbones and given how strong and sizable those hands were, Bucky thought it amazing that he hadn’t melted to the floor yet. “Or lunch. Or whatever you were going to say.”

“I was going to suggest that I go home and--” Bucky went through about five different emotions in the space of two syllables. Happy and hopeful shattered into distraught and depressed and horrified at the pure shame of reading the situation wrong.

Steve didn’t really pause, not even for dramatic effect, but the way his eyes flashed and the type of soft smile that stretched across his lips proved he’d witnessed Bucky's breakdown.

“—get a few changes of clothes and spend some time here. With you.” Bucky was nodding before Steve even finished his sentence. That sounded like heaven, and he didn’t even care if Steve’s version of extra clothes was nothing but a whole stash of ugly-as-fuck sweaters. 

“It comes with a condition, though,” Steve continued. His hand was doing that thing where it had settled against Bucky's throat. It wasn’t rough or painful; not even squeezing in the slightest. But it was there. A subtle reminder that came with a gentle thumb stroking the column of Bucky's stretched-out neck. It was, Bucky decided, erotic as hell.

He swallowed thickly, his tongue trying to remember how to form words. Steve didn’t let him, instead of leaning back down to give him a deep kiss.

“I want to know about you,” Steve said, the perfectly trimmed edges of his full beard scratching delightfully against Bucky's upper lip. “What you do for work. For fun. I want that. Strings. I want strings to be attached.”

“I want that, too,” Bucky admitted. It was simultaneously hard to say and easy at the same time. Possibly the most challenging thing he’d ever voiced out loud, but the fantasy of Steve being there more, and spending the night without a random excuse, and Steve walking around Bucky's kitchen in next to nothing; somehow that had all become worth more than just a good fuck.

Bucky still wanted that too, obviously, but he was a selfish thing, and now he wanted it all. Everything. More strings, fewer disposable benefits and a lot more attachment.

“So we’ll talk?” Steve asked. “Open and honest. And I’ll be the same with you. I’ll be able to tell you what I do.” He’d been mouthing his way over Bucky's jaw. That hand was still against Bucky's throat, and the other was toying with sections of Bucky's hair that had flopped out onto the back of the couch.

Bucky nodded, his hands coming to clutch at insanely broad shoulders, his fingers moulding into the dips and ridges of muscle.

“You’re a secret agent, aren’t you?” Bucky joked.

“Close,” Steve nodded. It made Bucky grin and almost laugh before doing a complete double-take.

“Wait, what?” Steve had been so serious, so deadpan when he spoke, that it had Bucky in all sorts of confusing knots.

Steve just smirked and thoroughly distracted Bucky with another deep, pressing kiss that stole brain power as well as air.

“Give me an hour—two at the absolute most. I’ll pick up some lunch on the way back,” Steve said. He was still hovering, still pressing Bucky back into the couch and god, Bucky really wanted to lock his legs around that insanely shaped waist and never let go. But the sooner Steve left, the sooner he’d be back, and while that sounded like a dramatic line from a BBC drama, Bucky just didn’t care. Once Steve was back, Bucky wasn’t going to let him out of bed for days. Or, really, he wasn’t going to let Steve allow him out of bed in days!

Eventually, Steve got himself together, collecting his keys and wallet that had somehow found a recurring spot in the credenza bowl Bucky used for his own, and straightened the front of his pants. Bucky really wanted to offer to help him with that, but that would only delay the better things that were to come.

Steve stole one last, long kiss before he let himself out, and Bucky found himself sighing and slumping against the door after he’d closed it.

For once, Alpine didn’t wail when Steve left. She hadn’t even come and gotten underfoot like she usually did. Bucky turned around to see if she was ok, his eyes going wide as she sat on the table, right next to the brand-new coffee mug. Bucky felt his heart sink.

Alpine looked at him, looked at the mug. She raised a paw, her intelligent eyes on Bucky. It was the cat version of a death stare; a dare and challenge. That paw moved, and Bucky gasped.

Instead of the shattering sound of both his gift and his heart breaking, Alpine meowed loudly again. She still pawed at the cup, only she swiped it towards herself and away from the edge. Once happy with its location, she flopped down and curled around it protectively.

Bucky tried not to make his relief known – she could smell emotions like some sort of bloodhound – and narrowed his eyes.

“I swear you’re not actually a cat.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe one day I’ll add a second chapter with the dirty smutfest that was in my head when writing this, but it is not this day. I really didn’t want to spend 6 weeks agonising myself over how badly I write porn. 
> 
> [The mug](http://minkawrites.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/61h3cvYoB4L._AC_SX569_.jpg)
> 
> Also, just for like… hype building and stuff (and if you’ve found me just because of this and look at my other fics and wonder wtf?!) I’m going to take this time to give you all a little teaser of my upcoming _Bodyguard Steve/Modern Royal Bucky + masked vigilantes + art heists_ fic.
>
>> “Tell me about yourself, Rogers.” James’ voice startled Steve out of his musing. Steve hadn’t really expected him to instigate conversation, even one that was clearly meant as an interrogation. 
>> 
>> “There isn’t much to tell, Your Highness,” Steve replied. He did his best to keep his tone flat and devoid of emotion, even while allowing himself another quick glance into the rearview mirror. 
>> 
>> The bodyguard had been warned when he was hired; the crown prince was charismatic and personable and had managed to convince all of his previous bodyguards to resign due to an egregious inability to keep track of him. Or, as if that wasn’t enough, the Prince had tricked them into grievously inappropriate acts and situations and seen them not only fired but run out of the small country. 
>> 
>> Steve was not cut from the same cloth, and he did not intend to make the same mistakes as his predecessors.
>> 
>> Clearing his throat a little to cover the hesitant pause, the bodyguard continued. “I served for ten years in the United States Green Berets. Most of my work there was classified, but-”
>> 
>> In the back-seat, the Prince waved a hand. Steve saw a flash of it in the mirror. 
>> 
>> “No, no, no. I don’t want your resume,” the Prince sighed dramatically. Steve watched him as his eyes rolled and his head turned to look out the window. Steve was almost glad to have the eye contact broken. “I can read that anytime I like. I want to know about you. How old are you? What kind of music do you like? Any brothers or sisters? I’m an only child, myself — you know, thanks to murder and all. But then again, I guess you already knew that. Files and documents and whatever other personal details Pierce slipped you.” Glancing uncertainty into the rearview mirror once more, Steve caught the Prince’s dry, wry smirk. “Must have been an exciting read.”
>> 
>> Steve felt his breath catch in his throat. He’d been expecting everything and anything, from hostility to terribly veiled seduction attempts. But jokes about the tragic death of the queen and princess had not been part of Steve’s mental preparation. As much as he was loathed to admit it, Steve had to chalk one up on the Prince’s side for the sheer shock factor of his callous words. 
>> 
>> “With all due respect, Your Highness,” Steve rationalized. “I think you shouldn’t make light of the serious threats against your family,” Steve mumbled; then, when the Prince pouted, he replied grudgingly. “Thirty-six. Classical and jazz. Only child.”
>> 
>> While he may have answered the questions, it really was a little too late. 
>> 
>> “Rest assured, Rogers,” the Prince’s tone had that same hauty jolt as it did over breakfast. “I neither underestimate nor forget the threats made against my family.”
> 
> Keep an eye out for **The Midnight Fox**! Follow me over on [Tumblr](https://minka-g.tumblr.com/) (or stalk my [blog](http://minkawrites.com/a-blog/)) or subscribe here or whatever, to make sure you don’t miss it.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos fuel us struggling creatures ( was meaning to type ‘creators’ but, ya know what, creatures works too!) so feed a hungry Minka…?!


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